


Nine Years

by beforethebones



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, just a little imagining on how i think asra and the apprentice's meeting first came about
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-25 22:58:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17130299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beforethebones/pseuds/beforethebones
Summary: "You were crowded into my booth, and together we caught just a glimpse of the visitor... Nadia Satrinava, the seventh Princess of Prakra. That was the day you arrived, Countess... nine years ago."The past may remain a whirling vortex of nothing but pain and darkness, but for everyone else, it remains untouched, bright, and real.





	Nine Years

**Author's Note:**

> Besides a small handful of things, not a lot has actually been established on the past of the apprentice— which, to be fair, is understandable. But I decided hey, fuck it, I'll write something small to commemorate that.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking a chance can sometimes lead to bad things. Yet, at the same time, it can possibly lead you to enough money to fill you up for half a month and meeting a stranger with a smile so charming you don't know what to do with yourself.

 

_"You were crowded into my booth, and together we caught just a glimpse of the visitor... Nadia Satrinava, the seventh Princess of Prakra. That was the day you arrived, Countess... nine years ago."_

 

* * *

 

 

It had been much warmer and more crowded in Vesuvia on that very day nine years ago, shrieks of delight and hilarity mixing with the cacophony of instruments meant to resemble some sort of music as Asra sat at his makeshift booth, leaning on one of his hands as he slouched against the table, thumbing through his tarot deck absentmindedly.  _Three of Swords... Temperance... Judgment... Queen of Cups... the Magician..._ Occasionally, he would glance up, trying to see if anyone had come up to his booth before dejectedly going back to his cards with a mental sigh.  _Eight of Cups... Knight of Wands... the Fool..._  

He had wanted to try being optimistic for once, ignoring Muriel's caution and dissuasion about how setting up a booth during the height of the Masquerade would be pointless as they had been painting an array of masks. "Why would anyone want to buy masks from a kid...? They could easily go to someone else..." He had said, yet Asra completely ignored it.

"You're not going about it the right way, Muriel—" he had tried telling his friend, yet he got swiftly cut off.

"I'm not wasting my time just sitting around... I could do that somewhere with less people if I wanted to."

Asra forced a laugh, brushing the subject off as the two continued to paint. But now he could only feel disheartened. As always, it appeared that Muriel was right; people were littering the streets, seemingly going to-and-fro nearly every other booth but his. Asra glanced at the small set up of masks to his right, the cards in his hand, and then to the rough, dank wall of the shop behind him. The people passing by his tent began to blur together, a million masks and a million colors quickly becoming nothing and everything all at once. It would have been less lonely with someone around. _What's the point?_

He closed his eyes, relishing in the cool stone as he leaned against it. In his eyes, this seemed like the perfect thing to do; after all, tourists were at their all-time high during the Masquerade, and the residents of Vesuvia were more than likely to splurge on unnecessary objects just to show off to their colleagues and acquaintances. Was it really just because he was a kid? Was it something more? Do they maybe know about him? Or what if—

A seemingly harsh whisper through all the noise snaked its way into his ear. "How much for a mask?"

Asra's eyes shot open as he flinched at the unexpected voice, reflexively backing up only to smack his head up against the wall. His cards slipped from his hand as he rubbed the back of his head, but before he even found the sense to react, they became enveloped in a hazy violet hue, stopping them from their descent to the wet ground. Asra's eyes widened as the light moved the cards, quickly shuffling the deck as they were placed back on the table. His eyes were still wide as he looked up at the stranger, whose hands were quickly fading from purple to their natural color.

In this quick moment, he took in their features. The person in front of him looked about his age, although most of their face was obscured with their thick, red hair and colorful traveling scarf. The skin visible through the silky sleeves of their shirt was covered in short scars and warm freckles, and he quickly noticed the fine quality of the fabric, something only worn by either wealthy merchants or the shopkeeps who could afford such a luxury. They clearly were not Vesuvian, or even Prakran, for that matter— Milovan, maybe? Though with that hair and the magical abilities it was more likely they were from Nevivon; Milovans were too superstitous, and Prakrans were too modest, after all. He wasn't quite sure. The aura they radiated was clear and calm, and even despite his worries and anxieties, Asra felt himself beginning to relax in their presence. Though only slightly.

They were focused on Asra, who stared at him with a look in their eyes, peculiar and concerned all at the same time, as they held their hands up in front of them. "You're welcome, I guess?" They said with a slight laugh. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

Asra must not have looked convinced by the way the stranger sighed, dropping their hands as, after a moment, they began to gingerly run one of them over the display of masks. "How much for a mask? They're gorgeous."

He instinctively stayed silent for a moment before coming back to reality, excitement slowly trickling in. _Someone cares. Take_ that _, Muri._  "They're, uh, five kinah each."

"What?" They said, surprised, as they turned to him with a furrowed brow. "Only five _kinah_? But they're so nice!"

Asra politely smiled from the compliment as he looked down.  _What am I doing?_ "They're nothing special. We- well,  _I_ just made them in an afternoon." He mentally kicked himself; he was supposed to be trying to sell the masks with some smooth words, a sly smile, but... well, he wasn't quite sure how to convince people to do things yet. But this was definitely _not_ the way to earn experience.

"Well, it's a fine carving regardless." They paused for a brief moment before unhooking one of the masks and unveiling their face. Asra caught the slight whiff of coconut and lavender, a small inch of warm skin, as the stranger dramatically flipped their hair out of their face, posing for themselves in the small mirror Asra had placed to the side. Were they... deliberately trying to get his attention by doing that? Even so, he smiled against his will. It was probably the flashiest one that Asra had painted, which wasn't saying much. A simple black wolf mask, careful blue strokes in intricate swirling designs painted on the sides and ears as one thick line went straight through the middle. It was his favorite of the ones he created during him and Muriel's carving, and he had to admit that it suited the stranger.  

They clicked their tongue, and a beat passed. "Y'know what? I'll take this one." They pulled the mask up to reveal themselves bare and struggled with pulling out a coin purse from a thin pocket in their bag, finally grasping it and pulling it out with a satisfied grin. They paused for a minute, their mouth shifting to one side, and Asra was worried that they had changed their mind about buying.

It was only when they pulled out a handful of gold and silver coins and placed them on the table did he get truly astonished. He quickly grabbed the money, counting it up in his head.  _Thirty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-six, forty-seven, fifty-two... sixty-two kinah._ He couldn't believe it. "I-I can't..." He tried to refuse, yet the number echoed in his mind as his tongue tied. He wasn't money-hungry by any means, but when that number can land two people enough food to last for half a month if spent well...

The stranger smiled as they winked, shifting their new mask to fit better as they jerked their head towards the shop. "Just take it as my way of trying to flirt with the cute attendant I've heard all about."

Asra flushed, all the thoughts he might have had slowly turning to liquid, but something that the stranger had said brought him back to reality with a furrowed brow. "You... know me?" 

The stranger paused for a moment before they realized what they had said, flushing as well. "Ah! Well, uh, in a way?" They tried to explain. They bit their lip before jerking their head to the magic shop behind them before beginning to ramble. "Believe it or not, this is my aunt's shop. I really only come around during the Masquerade since she needs the extra help and I need a break from the ocean but she, uh, likes sending letters to me in Nevivon." 

_Ah,_ Asra thought to himself as the stranger continued to ramble,  _well, t_ _hat's one thing solved_. "And in the more recent ones, she's told me about this scrawny white-haired kid that always hangs around by her shop that she's been helping to hone his magic." They flushed a bit deeper, covering their face again with the mask. "So I guess I tried connecting the dots and I figured that was you."

Asra smiled, looking over the stranger once more. He was about to open his mouth to speak, to say  _anything_ , but he was quickly cut off by the sudden loud, thundering footsteps practically shaking the ground, followed by whooping and hollering so loud that Asra was certain that someone could hear it all the way in the forests far north from here.

He hadn't noticed how far the stranger had been leaning out of the booth's tent until a passing body roughly knocked into them, nearly shoving them to the ground with their fervor. On a whim, he slid out from behind his table, going to their side to help them up. The stranger gave him a quick, appreciative smile, although both of their focuses had shifted onto the small flash of red that had appeared from the corner of their eyes. Asra looked towards the stranger, who only shrugged in response, but their question was answered soon enough as the loud hollering became a bone-shattering roar, essentially repeating the same phrase over and over as the bright red carriage adorned with intricate gold carvings became clearer in view.  _The princess is here_.

And that's when Asra had realized: Princess Nadia Satrinava had arrived in Vesuvia.

The curtains of her carriage's window had been drawn shut, not allowing anyone to peek through, yet as they occasionally fluttered open with the wind he could catch brief glimpses of her face— but nothing about her supposed beauty came to mind. She looked tired. Annoyed. Angry. Slightly drunk.  _What business does she have here that would make her look so upset?_

Eventually, the crowd began to thin as it followed the carriage through the rest of the city, but Asra couldn't help but feel bad for the princess as everything began to calm down. "I don't know if this is my general dislike for people speaking for me," he decided to say as the stranger turned toward him, "but I could not imagine being her right now."

"Oh, believe me, I  _know_." The stranger rolled their eyes, turning back towards Asra. "If the word on the street is correct, she's supposed to be courting the Count."

Against his will, a look of disgust made its way onto his face. "I would rather stick pins in my eyes than marry that man, good _Gods_."

This made the stranger laugh— an actual laugh, and not just the one of pity he had heard so often from everyone— and it was in that moment Asra realized how close they had gotten, how they were practically chest to chest. Asra flushed and stepped back, muttering apologies.

The stranger only smiled. "Nah, you're okay. My fault for not watching the crowd." They stood in silence for a moment before the stranger bit their lip. "I... don't know if we'll ever meet again, but just in case..." They swiftly held out their left hand to Asra. "I'm... Agama. Agama Acosta."

It was only then where Asra had realized where he had heard of the stranger— err, Agama. The few times he actually felt it was okay for him to go to the shop and bother Eylam Acosta, even when she insisted that he was company, he remembered when she would talk about the only family she herself had left; her nephew, Agama.

"He a very skilled boy now," she would say with her thick Nevivon accent every time Asra got upset over getting a spell incorrect, "but Lords be with me when I say he was worst magician I ever knew as young boy. I tell him, 'Agama,  _diqieno,_ light lantern so we can see through morning fog,' and boy accidentally make all lanterns on block  _explode_." Asra would laugh, still disheartened yet with a newfound sort of determination. If this kid was as good as a magician as his aunt made him out to be despite his rocky start, then surely Asra could get the hang of it, right?

Asira cautiously took his hand and shook it. "I'm Asra." He was surprised at how rough the other boy's skin was, and how calloused his palms were. "You're Eylam's nephew?"

Agama smiled. "I thought I had established that already."

"Your aunt told me how much you sucked at magic when you were a kid."

"Oh? Are you telling me that you fare better?"

"Well, I haven't exploded an entire block's worth of lanterns."

"Love, you haven't  _lived_ until you've exploded an entire block's worth of lanterns."

"Hm? Perhaps you could show me, then."

"Perhaps I will." A cheeky smile made its way onto Agama's lips. "If you see the castle go up in flames tonight, Asra, just know I had absolutely _nothing_ to do with it."

Gods, did Asra like the way his name rolled off of Agama's tongue. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God fucking JESUS, why do I end up writing so late at night???
> 
> I haven't really decided if I'm going to write more of this or not, so I'll see how well this is recieved, I guess! Though I'll probably end up doing more later anyways.
> 
> Thanks for reading this far, and happy New Years!


End file.
